How can he play the sax like that with boxing gloves on? No
mere Stooge, Steve Mackay is jabbing here with lightning quick
lefts to electronics, shadowboxing with tambura-like drones,
and delivering uppercusts to all lower crust sounds assembled.
Nearly half of the battles were proudly staged in KFJC’s pit,
no punches were pulled that’s certain. Even when we wind up
“Face Up On Dash” and we start to hear some old spectre of
Phil Spector, goddamn is that a knock-out! Maybe the whole
boxing motif was tipped off by a roundabout right via a
reverby remembrance of “Angel Heart” connecting to the ol’
Mickey Rourke-bone?’ Dunno, but this is so heavy and nimble,
medicine-man jazz with punk tribal power and some bars of
soul stuffed into those gloves too! Liquorball slips him
a mickey, and with the Radon posse in his corner, you know
Mackay’s going to come out lean and mean. But it is even
better than all that, slap a gold belt on this jewel case,
it’s a fucking champion. Laid me out flat. -Thurston Hunger